


Persona 5 Drabble Collection

by frogtan



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Drabble Collection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-08-06 05:35:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16382372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frogtan/pseuds/frogtan
Summary: Various drabbles focusing on different characters. Each chapter title is labeled with who it's specifically about.





	1. (Futaba) Your Fault

Futaba pulls bare legs close to her torso. A glow blinds her lenses yet all remains dark.

The custom-made keyboard in front of her receives a disinterested gaze that peer elsewhere. They squint from the pangs. Lithe fingers tense around her other hand, and knuckles jut. Harsh memories seep.

Curtain strands of long hair fall forward as she presses into thighs. But of course the memories will fester, like insects scurrying about on a succumbed body. There is no point in hiding, since what’s awful comes from within.

( “You’re the one who–” )

( No–!! )

Her hands uncuff around her legs and strike at her head. A whimper.

( “It’s your fault!” )

( “Die!” )

Her eyelids squeeze together, warm tears form. Not again…

It’s hard to think. Men and women she doesn’t know yet know her whisper profanities into her ear. The weight of these accusations persistently beat her into the ground, again and again. They’re impatient, and she’s becoming impatient too. It’s where she belongs. Futaba takes an unsteady gulp of cold air as Mom scorns her, as she lays on the road with everyone around. She gets it, gets it already…

The ritual ends.

Like visitors leaving a mess. She’s tired. Her arms droop to her sides. Her face, wet, rests its side into her knees, while Futaba softly breathes between chapped lips. From the corner of her eye, text-heavy papers litter the floor. Leading up are wired shelves, the top displaying Featherman figures with radiant stars as the backdrop. The proof of her existence remains, and she’s still around to soak them in.

Ah…

“I don’t deserve to be alive…”


	2. (Yusuke) Crumble

How stifling.

The undying chatter outside his room translates as a bickering madness inside his mind. Yusuke quietly groans into a textbook. Instead of allowing pitched sentences to jumble his train of thought any longer, his slouch uncurls into the chair and he deeply breathes.

A scholarship differentiates him from the rest. Despite how unbearable, his peers have no fault in this. While they casually discuss matters such as hanging out and dating, he’s concerned about affording dinner.

His eyebrows knot particularly at the mention of parents.

The atmosphere of the dorms deems him unfit, but the shack known as his so-called home is no longer finer. The rustic structure turned into an oppressive icon. Its walls would ruthlessly tease him for his ignorance. Returning would mean consenting to subjugation, whether or not that is the case.

Freedom ceases to exist here, however. Yusuke wonders, as he peers out the window showcasing a weary display, if this time he’s in the wrong since he’s so privileged to stay.

Yes, even the slowed movement of his paintbrush could attest to this. How trapped living could feel. How absurd the human heart behaved. He chuckles in a sighingly-pitiful way as his ached.

Yusuke crumbles in front of his canvas. His melancholy expression dips near his shoulder. What once passioned him mirrors his tainted heart. His view of the art world sullied, done by the very man who taught him beauty, and now “Sayuri” holds him by a thread. Is it wrong to appreciate much less desire that simpler, comfortable life even if he was cared for by someone who exploited the dreams of his generation?

His disgruntled stomach answers.


End file.
